The God of Treasure Chests
by Riley Crest
Summary: A timid friendship is born out of the most vile of man's creation: Gold.


**READ BEFORE CONTINUATION:**

**Disclaimer: All standard disclaimers apply. No infringement is intended. Characters and setting belong to J.K. Rowling and publishers. No profit is made. **

**A/N: 'T' I believe I've made a character or two use some…colorful language.**

**Riley Crest**

**The God of Treasure Chests**

On a rather sunny day at Hogwarts, three teenagers argued under the warm shade of an old tree. Scarce clouds passed over their heads every once in a while, not even strong enough to distract the rays of the sun. A girl of seventeen plopped onto her back in exasperation, rolling her eyes at the steady stream of complaints flowing from her two best friends. '_Boys sure are stupid,' _she thought.

The black haired boy remarked on her silent berate with an eye-roll of his own. "We're not stupid, 'Mione, just concerned is all." His red-headed friend nodded eagerly beside him.

Hermione sighed and resisted the urge to smack her forehead. "I don't see the problem," she stated, "It's just a different color, is all." As she stood to leave, she shook her hair over her shoulder. "And I think that red is a nice color."

The red-headed boy known as Ron tried to grasp her hand as she left, but Hermione was too fast for him. She slithered away, looking for all the world like a Slytherin who'd been kidnapped by angry Gryffindors.

Ron turned to his best mate, Harry. "She looks great, it suits her," he said, nodding his head in the direction Hermione had left, "I just wish it didn't look so much like Ginny's. I'm not much for dating my sister, or her twin."

Harry nodded to his friend, popping a chocolate frog whole into his mouth. They all had problems.

Draco Malfoy hated muggles and everything that had to do with them. From they way they dressed to their common, _peasant _speech, those without magic were utterly revolting. The young Malfoy heir prided himself in not dirtying himself with their unpleasantness, it was beneath him and he knew it. As he drew another drag off his Marlboro, he tried once again to recite this little mantra, loosing thought at the 'everything' bit. If muggles had done one thing right, it was their cigarettes. Little buggers were _addictive!_ Picking up the carton, he realized he only had two packs left. Stabbing the cigarette out into the ground, the Slytherin made a mental list of the things he'd need.

'_Cigarettes, cigarettes, cigarettes…' _So, it wasn't much of a list, but he pretty much had everything. _'Oh, and someone to talk to.' _Ah, accept that.

Draco hated being lonely, and God though he was, he often found himself without a friend in the world. He had minions and worshippers and enemies and rivals and bodyguards and a godfather. He had his parents and relatives he didn't really know, as well as other teens of a social standing that barely grazed his own. But a friend he was short, and almost terminally so. People tended to hate him or worship him. There was so much in association with his name that no one could (or would) make attempts to understand him. He was alone, and bitterly so. He briefly entertained the thought of lying back on the ground. The inkling fled his mind quicker than it had entered, Malfoy's do not behave in such a manner. The rules of his family were burned into him, scarring his very soul. He scoffed at his internal wanderings. What was the word? Ah, right.

He was being much to emo.

Harry trotted along the corridor quietly. It was a wonderful Saturday afternoon and the first chills of winter crawled along his back. He wondered at paying a visit to Hagrid as he passed the courtyard, but decided against as he felt too tired. He made his way about the school, never really staying in one place but not really going anywhere. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and though he should have been in town with his friends he had thought the peace and quiet would help to soothe his jumpy emotions.

Sliding down against the nearest wall, he realized the closest he had come thus far to soothing was boredom.

Christmas morning for a Malfoy was a site to see. New dragon skin boots and silver chains, the finest sweets money could buy and the pay-day of a millennia. He had once heard his father remark to a fellow deatheater, "If you can't figure out what your kid wants, give him some money. " A witty little saying.

Draco couldn't figure which was worse, throwing his money into a trunk of endless savings, or the fact that the trunk had to be spelled to hold the cash. _A fortune for fools, _he thought. It was almost sad to see the lid close, knowing he'd never make a withdrawal.

Harry knew that today would be a bad day, but he didn't know it'd be that bad. Ron and 'Mione had finally broken up over her refusal to dye her hair its proper color, and Snape had been particularly snarky during potions. But as he opened the door to the Astronomy Tower, he knew his day would only be getting worse. Draco Malfoy was not his favorite person in the world and said boy was currently leaning out the window, looking shaken and misplaced with a large trunk in his arms. Harry briefly thought of walking away, but a flicked of his rival's eyes told him he'd been caught. Not a coward, the bespeckled Gryffindor made his way into the room. He ran his eyes over Draco's rigid frame, wondering at his antics.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, succeeding at keeping everything but pure curiosity out of his voice.

"Jumping."

Harry's eyes grew wide. Could Malfoy be serious? "Why?"

Draco glanced back at Harry, then trudged over and opened the trunk. Harry gasped at all the money, he didn't understand.

"Okay, so you have some galleons. Why would you want to jump?" Harry pushed his glasses back up his nose, then placed his hands behind his back. Malfoy seemed to chew his words over for a moment, and then replied: "I have so much, but it's not what I want, no, need. I… All I have is this fortune, this artificial love. My family thinks they can buy me, that I'm something to be owned. My 'friends' want nothing more than status and gold. I don't really have anything to call my own, except what I was born with. You know, just my skin. Which isn't really mine, either. It's…complicated."

As Draco finished his short monologue Harry found himself in a predicament. Was the Slytherin crazy, or was a just fuckin' out there? "Bloody hell, you're messed up," Harry muttered to the blonde teen. Draco smiled at the wry humor he had gotten out of the statement.

"I know. 'Tis why I'm here. Why are you interrupting me?" Draco moved back to the window and Harry felt his heart go with the boy.

"I dunno, for reasons that aren't nearly as warped as yours. No offense…I suppose."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "No offense? We're not enemies?"

"Ah…Voldemort is dead and your family has been 'proven innocent.' I don't believe that last bit, but I'm not particularly worried. We can still be rivals, but then again, you're about to go all splat. I can leave."

"No offense taken, anyways. You know what I want?" Draco moved away from the window again, and Harry wondered if his rival had the courage to face his death.

"A gory, rich ending?" The Gryffindor couldn't help but smile, he didn't believe Malfoy would jump.

Draco caught the joke and smirked. "I want you to have this, donate it to a charity or something. I'll not need it where I'm going."

Harry frowned as Malfoy thrust the trunk into his hands.

"When I first received it, I was only three. My father told me it was a treasure chest. I was so disappointed when I found no bloody loot. Now every time I open it, the gold of the coins sickens me. Some one needs all that more than I do, they want it more than me. Keep it to yourself, give it to Weasley. I'm tired of carrying it around."

Harry set the trunk down as the dawning of understanding graced him, and he felt that he needed to help Draco Malfoy.

"You know, why don't you give it to charity? I know what you feel, the pressure of a name you can barely live up to is fatal, but you don't have to kill yourself. You don't have to do anything except live. Just be who you are."

"And who the bloody hell am I, Saint Potter? Tell me!" Draco screamed, wails wracking his body. Harry tentively embraced the sobbing boy, rubbing his back.

"You're just a lost bloke who's life is going to shit, and you're tired of fixing it. Like every one else, but you don't have to weather the storm alone. Ask friends for help."

"I haven't any friends." Draco muttered. He was growing drowsy in the Golden Boy's arms.

"You can talk to me."

Draco was quiet for a moment, and Harry thought it might have been the wrong thing to say. But the thin arms around tightened a fraction of an inch and a small 'thank you' could be heard about the silent room. Draco recovered and stepped out the Harry's space, blushing.

"Thanks," he said again.

"No problem."

They sat and conversed about nothing until the sun came up, and Draco felt the pending departure from Harry weighing in heavily. He felt like jumping again, or begging Harry to stay with his the rest of the day. Classes could wait, right? But they parted, and the Slytherin was eager for the next time they would cross paths.

It was two weeks before school let out, the finals were done and the houses were celebrating. Draco and Harry laid back on the transfigured mattress in the Astronomy tower room, nibbling on cookies. They had something akin to friendship, and Draco giggled every time he thought of their meetings as a date. Harry would wonder at the sound; Draco had a _pretty_ laugh.

"You know, you should think about going out some time." Harry suggested thoughtfully, grabbing a chocolate candy bar. Draco just shook his head and lit a cigarette. "And stop smoking. Where'd you pick up that habit, anyways?"

Pleased that Harry had changed the subject himself, Draco answered. "Went to America last summer, and I saw this bloke do it. He said it made you feel better. So I tried, and it did. Now I just can't stop."

"You shouldn't have been so trusting of him, he was a complete stranger. Besides, you should know cigarettes are bad for your health."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Ah, save the lecture. Besides, I don't blame the man. I blame the country."

"What do you have against the U.S.?" Harry asked, sitting up. "It's the 'Land of Dreams.'"

Draco raised a fine eyebrow. "Will you be tried for treason, Potter?"

Harry grinned but shook his head. "I'm British through and through. But I don't think you can blame a country for your addiction. And I didn't say the man was at fault, the blame sits squarely upon you."

Draco shrugged and turned so that he was facing the middle of the bed, and Harry. The Gryffindor laid back and turned so he was facing Draco.

"Whatever, back to the original train of thought."

Draco groaned, but didn't stop him. "Why aren't you dating? God knows there are plenty fish to catch. Ron and Hermione are back together."

Draco didn't know how the rest of the Trio fit into that sentence, but he didn't comment on it. He and Harry had fought about the Mudblood and her weasel, an argument he didn't care to have again. He knew Harry to be a precious thing to loose.

"I don't think my crush would go for it." Draco blushed. He hated talking to Harry about Harry, the lies ate him up.

"Who is your crush, you won't tell me. I won't laugh, unless it's Ron. If it is, good luck."

Draco's eyes widened. "What would make you think it's a bloke?"

Harry grinned. "You're smokescreen is nearly impenetrable, but the counting's been done a thousand times over."

Draco scoffed, angry and embarrassed at having been outed. He thought of a million things to say, but he settled on, "You don't hate me?"

Harry smiled a gentle smile at the torn boy beside him. "Nah, if anything it gives me hope."

Though it took a few minutes for the comment to register, realization eventually dawned on Draco's face and triumph and joy shone in his eyes. The victory was short lived when the Slytherin found himself growing shy. He looked at everywhere but Harry before finding the courage to speak.

"You're my crush," he said tentatively.

Harry nodded and scooted closer. "Go with me?" he asked, and Draco felt angry that Potter was so smooth. But he said yes and they grasped hands and beamed.

Draco felt his lips dry. "Are you going to kiss me now?"

Harry sent a silent 'thank you' to the God of Treasure Chests, then proceeded to kiss his own treasure.

Woot it's done! Thanks for reading.

~Riley


End file.
